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[pharmacy]

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Quentin Smith, 23

letters ◇ thoughts ◇ dreams

CODE BY

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[otherbitches]

So. No light constructs.

[ His fingers drum on the bar top, and it's very casual when he asks: ] So. Is he a decent fuck? He looks stiff to me.

[pharmacy]

[ Quentin spits about half of his mouthful of beer back into the cup. Just half! ] Are you--what the fuck, are you serious?

[otherbitches]

Yeah, [ Billy says, nodding. ] Really stiff. Do you have to do all the work?

[pharmacy]

[ He colors bright red ear to ear, glaring back at Billy. It's hard to tell where the anger comes from--the offense to Stephen? Being asked so directly about his sex life with someone else? The assumption that they're fucking? The strongest contender, Quentin tries to ignore, is the fact that no one--not a single person in this place--has told him to account for sleeping with someone old. Older. He'd almost forgotten to feel strange about it until now.

[ And, now, he bursts about it: ] No, no, he's not stiff! He's good, he's--great, even someone really stiff can unwind if you're not a raging douchebag!

[otherbitches]

Jeez! Okay. [ Billy sounds annoyed, but he's grinning ear to ear. There's no time to hide it. ] Okay, I get it, he's really stiff and you love it. Do you rub his knees before bed too? So he can plow you?

[pharmacy]

Why would you say that? [ High, exasperated. Quentin leans in, covering Billy's mouth with one hand on a tipsy, compulsive instinct. Brows raised head shaking: ] What if I'm plowing?

[otherbitches]

Billy's eyebrows fly up. He's pleased as punch!

His mouth opens, breath hot on Quentin's palm, voice a little muffled: "Call it curiosity. Do you? Do you really?"

[pharmacy]

Quentin's hand presses harder, weight leaning precariously from his own stool into Billy's lap. "I am a man of...many talents."

[otherbitches]

"I don't believe you." Billy's mouth drops open, tongue dragging across Quentin's palm. He says, very muffled: "Quentin, do you fuck that old man?"

[pharmacy]

His nose scrunches, but he doesn't flinch. Sorry, Billy, it's a little predictable. "Yeah, I fuck him. It's hot, and real." His palm lifts, and he smears Billy's spit across his own cheek with a grin. "And in our dreams, I fuck him over the hood of the Porsche."

[otherbitches]

Billy's own spit drags across his face and his eyes narrow at Quentin for a beat. Then another. And then he laughs, loudly, enough that other patrons turn and look. "It's HOT and it's REAL?"

He cackles like a hyena. "That's awful. Sorry it's hotter in your dreams."

[pharmacy]

"God, shut up, Billy!" He said what he meant, what he felt, albeit a little more freely than he might have if he wasn't a little soused. Billy's barking laugh slides up his nerves like a papercut. Quentin lets go of his drink to free up both hands and shove Billy as hard as he can, hopefully off his chair.